Prologue, 2.
When the innkeeper opened his eyes, he looked into the fireplace and spoke slowly, as though trying to remember something that had happened to him personally. It took a while for me to realize that he was painstakingly trying to remember a story that had once been quite familiar in the region and which required him to go out of his dialect.
He
began thus:
In the beginning, there were only elves and men. The tribes of Dunsig settled the shores of Aelfstan hopes that their children would never know want in the way that they had suffered as sea men and wanderers of the earth's desolate places. King Hrodwulf had promised his band of warriors a permanent home, a place to raise families and become tenders of the fields. They had been a warlike people, but they found in their hearts a desire for the comforts of hearth and home, the embrace of wife and the warmth of children. They found on the cliffs of Aelfstan a rugged land, but one well attuned to their needs as fierce protectors of their people. The cliffs would admit no adversaries to their shores without their knowledge, and the ample broad fields and streams inland would allow for their families to grow. Or so they reasoned.
They named their new home Haevinia, for it brought them a safe and comfortable haven from the hardships of travel and conflict. However, the land was already peopled with a race of elves whose claim to the land superseded Hrodwulf's legacy. The dispute between elves and men quickly became violent and remained bitter for many years. But even through these difficult times, Warwick grew and new shires were staked out. Occasionally men of Warwick disappeared, never to be seen again, and many believed them to be taken to Seregharma, the land of elves, which no mortal could penetrate on his own. Though many tried to find the fabled land, none were successful, and many good men were lost in the search. Well, these times were hard, but--.
Here the innkeeper paused to relight his pipe, and I took the opportunity to ask, "How long ago were these events?"
He took a long draw on his pipe. "I'd say long about 1000 year or more, give or take."
The room had grown dark as he talked and I noticed for the first time since dinner that I was very tired, but I felt my question was not yet answered.
"Perhaps my question hasn't been clear," I started, not sure how to finish, "but I--." I paused and waved away the innkeeper's large paw which proffered more tobacco. "But, I was hoping to hear more about the--ah, recent history of this region, and perhaps of this inn, in particular."
In the beginning, there were only elves and men. The tribes of Dunsig settled the shores of Aelfstan hopes that their children would never know want in the way that they had suffered as sea men and wanderers of the earth's desolate places. King Hrodwulf had promised his band of warriors a permanent home, a place to raise families and become tenders of the fields. They had been a warlike people, but they found in their hearts a desire for the comforts of hearth and home, the embrace of wife and the warmth of children. They found on the cliffs of Aelfstan a rugged land, but one well attuned to their needs as fierce protectors of their people. The cliffs would admit no adversaries to their shores without their knowledge, and the ample broad fields and streams inland would allow for their families to grow. Or so they reasoned.
They named their new home Haevinia, for it brought them a safe and comfortable haven from the hardships of travel and conflict. However, the land was already peopled with a race of elves whose claim to the land superseded Hrodwulf's legacy. The dispute between elves and men quickly became violent and remained bitter for many years. But even through these difficult times, Warwick grew and new shires were staked out. Occasionally men of Warwick disappeared, never to be seen again, and many believed them to be taken to Seregharma, the land of elves, which no mortal could penetrate on his own. Though many tried to find the fabled land, none were successful, and many good men were lost in the search. Well, these times were hard, but--.
Here the innkeeper paused to relight his pipe, and I took the opportunity to ask, "How long ago were these events?"
He took a long draw on his pipe. "I'd say long about 1000 year or more, give or take."
The room had grown dark as he talked and I noticed for the first time since dinner that I was very tired, but I felt my question was not yet answered.
"Perhaps my question hasn't been clear," I started, not sure how to finish, "but I--." I paused and waved away the innkeeper's large paw which proffered more tobacco. "But, I was hoping to hear more about the--ah, recent history of this region, and perhaps of this inn, in particular."
"So
you'd be wanting to hear about King Harold, I gather." He took
another long draw on his pipe. "It was King Harold who changed the
name of Haevinia to Warwick," he added, laying down the bit of straw he'd
lit his pipe with.
"King Harold?" I asked, not sure how to respond.
The innkeeper got up and drew two more pints of ale, and as he handed mine to me, settled into his chair once more. "King Harold," he said as he looked toward me, "was a good king, I don't care what anybody else says." He paused. "For that matter, I say he were a sight better king that his father Edgar, but that may be up for dispute." He eyed me with some suspicion, as though daring me to disagree.
I smiled affably and waited for him to continue.
As I say, King Harold was a strong ruler. He understood how to make people safe, and how to give people the chance they deserved."
"Why would anyone find fault with him?" I ventured to ask, a bit cautious.
"Now that's exackly my point. You've hit the nail right upon the proverb'al head. That's jest what I've been saying all along. But round these parts King Harold gets some short shrift, I tell you. Even to this day."
"King Harold?" I asked, not sure how to respond.
The innkeeper got up and drew two more pints of ale, and as he handed mine to me, settled into his chair once more. "King Harold," he said as he looked toward me, "was a good king, I don't care what anybody else says." He paused. "For that matter, I say he were a sight better king that his father Edgar, but that may be up for dispute." He eyed me with some suspicion, as though daring me to disagree.
I smiled affably and waited for him to continue.
As I say, King Harold was a strong ruler. He understood how to make people safe, and how to give people the chance they deserved."
"Why would anyone find fault with him?" I ventured to ask, a bit cautious.
"Now that's exackly my point. You've hit the nail right upon the proverb'al head. That's jest what I've been saying all along. But round these parts King Harold gets some short shrift, I tell you. Even to this day."
I wondered about the cultural memory of
these simple folk who could keep alive a political controversy for over five
hundred years. What must their city council meetings be like? Or
their family reunions, for that matter? If no one ever forgot anything? I
resolved to ask more about this later.
"Now King Harold was the second son, you see. He never thought to rule, but that made him a people's King. That's what he was. A King of the People."
He placed special emphasis on people, tapping his pipe on his knee as he spoke. "His older brother Edward was of the old mindset. He was book learned and he ruled in the way his father taught him. In fact, he kept the same advisers around him, and filled his court with old folks who supported Things-As-They-Had-Been."
Again, he tapped his pipe for emphasis. "Growing up Harold and Edward had been like ice and fire, always at loggerheads. When Harold fished, Edward read. When Harold hunted, Edward counted out sums. When Harold chased the ladies, Edward caught favor at court. The two couldn't have been more different. And all would have been the way that things were 'meant' to be, if Edward hadn't succumb'd to the plague. Him and his wife, that is. The both of them died, right after Edgar passed away. On his deathbed good King Edgar had breathed his last thanks to the maker that Edward was coming to the throne, but it wasn't to be."
The innkeeper was clearly worked up. He paused and drained his ale in one long drink.
"So, how does all of this fit into--" I wasn't sure how to continue, but it seemed that none of this really answered the question of how this little area became what it was today.
"You're meaning what does King Harold have to do with Warwick today? Just a tiny little village in the middle of nowhere?"
That was my question. I nodded.
Well, for that, you'd have to hear the Tale of Warwick.
"Isn't that what I have been hearing?"
"Well, no. But I can tell you the Tale of Warwick, if you're wantin' to hear it."
"Please." I said, as patiently as I could. "I want to hear the Tale of Warwick."
"That will have to wait until tomorrow. It's much too late to begin tonight. We'll begin straightaway after dinner tomorrow."
As it was very late, and I was now near dead with fatigue, I allowed the innkeeper's wife to lead me to my room where I found a huge double bed outfitted with deep feather pillows.
I instantly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
"Now King Harold was the second son, you see. He never thought to rule, but that made him a people's King. That's what he was. A King of the People."
He placed special emphasis on people, tapping his pipe on his knee as he spoke. "His older brother Edward was of the old mindset. He was book learned and he ruled in the way his father taught him. In fact, he kept the same advisers around him, and filled his court with old folks who supported Things-As-They-Had-Been."
Again, he tapped his pipe for emphasis. "Growing up Harold and Edward had been like ice and fire, always at loggerheads. When Harold fished, Edward read. When Harold hunted, Edward counted out sums. When Harold chased the ladies, Edward caught favor at court. The two couldn't have been more different. And all would have been the way that things were 'meant' to be, if Edward hadn't succumb'd to the plague. Him and his wife, that is. The both of them died, right after Edgar passed away. On his deathbed good King Edgar had breathed his last thanks to the maker that Edward was coming to the throne, but it wasn't to be."
The innkeeper was clearly worked up. He paused and drained his ale in one long drink.
"So, how does all of this fit into--" I wasn't sure how to continue, but it seemed that none of this really answered the question of how this little area became what it was today.
"You're meaning what does King Harold have to do with Warwick today? Just a tiny little village in the middle of nowhere?"
That was my question. I nodded.
Well, for that, you'd have to hear the Tale of Warwick.
"Isn't that what I have been hearing?"
"Well, no. But I can tell you the Tale of Warwick, if you're wantin' to hear it."
"Please." I said, as patiently as I could. "I want to hear the Tale of Warwick."
"That will have to wait until tomorrow. It's much too late to begin tonight. We'll begin straightaway after dinner tomorrow."
As it was very late, and I was now near dead with fatigue, I allowed the innkeeper's wife to lead me to my room where I found a huge double bed outfitted with deep feather pillows.
I instantly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.